Raining
by bikelock28
Summary: You climb out of bed. He follows you into the kitchen. "What do we have in the fridge?" you ask. He snorts. "Like I'm gonna know," You look inside. "Um…milk. Pasta. Grapes. A packet of cigarettes. Cheese. See if there's any bread, we can have cheese on toast," . A short Barney/ Robin drabble.


**I don't own How I Met Your Mother. **

Raining

Rain batters the windows as New York City bears the brunt of the storm. He's shifting around beside you in bed.

"Are you awake?"

He rolls over and faces you. "Yeah. Can you sleep?"

"No,"

He exhales. "D'you want to do something?"

You shrug.

"Seeing as we're both here…" he hums, stroking a finger down your arm.

"Really? Now? We've already done it like four times tonight,"

"Um, do you know me? When do I ever _not_ want sex?"

It's dark. You're tired. "I'm not in the mood,"

He lies on his back. "Fine,"

Silence. You know that neither of you are going to get to sleep with this weather.

"You want something to eat?" you say.

"Okay,"

You climb out of bed. He follows you into the kitchen.

"What do we have in the fridge?" you ask.

He snorts. "Like I'm gonna know,"

You look inside. "Um…milk. Pasta. Grapes. A packet of cigarettes. Cheese. See if there's any bread, we can have cheese on toast,"

He checks. "Yeah, there's bread,"

He puts two slices in the toaster and pushes down the slider.

"Where's the cheese grater?"

He finds it, gives it to you and you grate enough cheese for two toasties. The quietness is interrupted when the toaster pops. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him jump at the sudden sound. For some reason this makes you smile.

"Can we fit both in the microwave?"

"Mmm, probably,"

You put half the cheese on each slice of toast, and cram them side by side in the microwave. When you switch it on, the inside of the microwave clicks into yellow light. A small box of brightness in the corner of the dark kitchen.

The French windows onto the balcony rattle. The microwave buzzes in lazy harmony with the hum of the central heating.

"Camping weather," you joke, for something to say.

You might needle him about Canada and how he should be used to this weather, if you weren't so tired.

The microwave beeps. He hands you two plates, and you put a toastie on each.

The granite of the kitchen counter is hard and uncomfortable against the small of your back. The cheese tastes warm. You can hear him crunching the toast in his teeth.

"You know," he says, spitting breadcrumbs, "For someone as bad a cook as you, you're pretty good at cheese on toast,"

He shrugs and takes another bite. You watch him, leaning on the fridge in his burgundy silk pyjama bottoms and smiling to himself as he eats. His fringe is sticking up erratically where he's been moving around in bed. Light stubble shadows his jaw. Down his stomach, there's a smattering of tiny golden curls. He doesn't notice the crumb that drops onto his collarbone.

God, you love this man.

The feeling swamps you. It aches in your gut and behind your ribcage; you feel vaguely faint. It's like something suffocating you from the inside out.

His Adam's apple bobs in his throat as he swallows, and you love him so much you're going to cry.

You're not sure what to do, but your heart takes charge, moving you across the kitchen and over to him. You wrap your arms around his waist; lean your face into his neck (he smells amazing. Honestly, he's just been in bed –how can he smell this amazing after he's been in bed?). Instinctively, his arms fold around the top of your shoulders.

Everything inside of you trembles because it feels so right.

"I love you," you murmur. You put the same gentle emphasis on each syllable, your voice low and still. He doesn't reply, and you wonder if he's heard you, but you don't trust yourself to say it again. You don't want to cry; what would you say? _I'm sorry but watching you eat cheese toasties in your pyjamas at 2am has made me see how violently in love with you I am. I love you so much it kind of feels bad. I'm crying because I really love you. Sorry._

You stay silent, pressed against the warmth of his body, as he rests his chin on the top of your head. Breathing him in is comforting and gradually, the burning in the back of your eyes peters out.

You hold each other in the darkness. The cheese toasties go cold. Rain batters the windows as New York City bears the brunt of the storm.

* * *

**Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed. Whatever you thought, reviews are much appreciated.**

**Thanks again.**


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